


puppeteers

by Lattemi



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Gen, im too lazy to type out all the character names so i'll only add relevant ones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-07 10:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lattemi/pseuds/Lattemi
Summary: Strings attached to all the puppets, bestowing the gift of life. Everyone trusts that the strings will never be tampered with - but what happens when the manoeuvring pair of hands cut them?(More info in chapter notes, probably)





	1. beginnings?

**Author's Note:**

> ...I'm not actually quite sure myself what this is, to be honest. But most of this drabble for this first chapter came from random headcanons I made up a while ago, and still like to make stories about sometimes. I mean, what I've written might sound "deep", but I thought before I actually start writing the proper storyline I'm going to make out of this that I'd give some context first, I guess? So for now, here's some sort of "backstory" to the world and universe I'm going to set the plot in. It's only about 900 words long, so you won't have to read much. I wrote it in first person, but whose point of view it's from will probably be revealed later. I hope you enjoy reading this, because this is the first thing I've written in a super long time.

What is the Master Core?

The Master Core is the connection. It's the centre that we are all tied to, the reason we still roam these worlds, even after a countless plethora of deaths. Simply put, it is the core and derivation of our existence. It ensures our existences are not wiped and erased from this universe. It preserves our stories and legends. It is the gift of life – or perhaps, the curse of life, should you perceive it to be so.

Almost – if not all – of the beings in said universe rely on the stable connection between themselves and the Master Core. Death is never really eternal in this world. What you might consider death is in fact just a mere temporary sleep, a hibernation that we enter upon this so-called "death". One's soul remains at rest until its shell has been revived for it to re-enter. As for our bodies (corpses, if you like), they are reduced to trophies. Figures. Ornaments. Dolls.

Puppets.

They say the Core is in the hands of a puppeteer. No one has ever seen the Puppeteer themselves, or the person who controls the hands that manipulate us puppets. But everyone has witnessed the things their hands can do, in their own unique way. Many people try to disprove it, saying that each of us has the independence to think for ourselves, that our connection with the hands is nothing more than to salvage our lives and allow us to exist. But that's just a lie they tell themselves because they don't want to believe every action we take, every word we utter and every decision we make is not really ever made by us.

The definition of belief, according to the dictionary, is that it is something that you accept is true,  _especially_  without proof. So perhaps my usage of the term "believe" is quite hypocritical, since the proof is already in front of everyone's eyes. (That statement is contradictory in itself as there is no rule that belief is  _always_  without proof, but let's not overthink this.) It should only make sense that we accept our real purpose for existing, because the hands that pull our strings to make us move are amongst us already. In this very mansion.

One pair of gloved hands holds the fate of our beings. Each hand holds different destinies of different people and creatures, who are given no choice but to trust the hand they have been placed in. The pair of hands oversee our small little multiverse that has been gifted with practically eternal life by the strings they manoeuvre, but everyone here seems to forget that they could take that away from us whenever they like should they see fit. But perhaps they forget because they're being told, deep inside, to forget. We should consider ourselves lucky to only be evicted from the mansion if we're ever taken out of these games and tournaments. Although our lives themselves are games, are they not?

Then I have another ultimate question to ask: why do we exist as we do in the first place? Time may take its toll on us mentally and emotionally, but physically? Many of us here have remained the same for what feels like eons, trapped in the same bodies and masked with the same faces for forever. The answer is simple: we do  _not_  exist, not in a real world. All we are are simple concepts and ideas conceived from the depths of someone's mind. Fantasised characters living in fantasy worlds. Even this universe we supposedly inhabit, this universe where all of the real world's ideas are stored to remain forever, is probably made up, in which case our universe may be part of yet another universe that stores ideas, as may that one, and so on and so forth. This is also why we retain our appearances that never seem to change, game to game - since we exist to represent ourselves as ideas, we have to stay as we are. Once a being in this world reaches the age they were designated to be, their ageing process reaches a standstill, freezing forever. The mind itself, however, can still develop and continue to grow from experiences in the future. A way to think about it is that some of us could be considered 25-year-old minds enclosed in 13-year-old bodies.

If our creators had not  _thought_  of us in the first place, we would not be. Our presence is only necessary to ensure that the creators in their world - the real world - can preserve their ideas. If we were to vanish, that would imply that the idea was forgotten, and that not a single being in that real world had any memory of us. Only then would we cease to exist. However, because of the Master Core, that can never happen. Combined with the many documents and works that prove our existence as concepts in the real world, this is how we are promised perpetual life.

Call me ungrateful if you wish to, but I do not hold any trust in the Master Core. If the right hand contains lawful good, and the left chaotic evil, can the pair of hands truly work together in peace? No one has anyway of knowing if one could overpower the other. The Core is fighting its own battle, surely.

Perhaps, soon, the craziness of the left hand may corrupt our beloved Core.


	2. overthinking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This scene is set when - well, when the characters actually get around to...watching the recent March Nintendo Direct. And we all know what happened in that, right? Yeah, I'm excited too. Anyway, this chapter's a little longer than the last one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll get somewhere with the plot I'm trying to write. I'm just worried that I'm not getting enough words into these chapters... hopefully this is less vague than the first chapter. ^^" Sorry if it's a bit long.  
> Also, a little note: there's a change in POV whenever I add a horizontal line to separate sections. Just thought I'd make that clear now.

"A new roster? Again?"

Pit squints at the screen, replaying the clip, his eyes widening when the trailer reveals the silhouettes stood in front of the famous unevenly-crossed sphere, an image portrayed with flickering flames burning fiercely in the background.

"This direct...it means…!"

It's not totally difficult for us to get our hands on the plans our creators have for us in the somewhat near future. When you're in the universe that practically has access to anything their world decides to invent (the Internet being one of their most useful innovations, I have to admit) you know if you've got another life-risking story, quest, adventure to put up with. And hopefully survive. You also know if you're potentially going to be dead after said plan, but there's a difference between being a genuinely dead idea or being an idea that's  _theoretically_  dead, but still exists as an idea. Thankfully, our creators come through for us 99.98% of the time and we stay alive a little longer – not that we don't trust them or anything, but. You know. It's very difficult to explain.

In terms of the Smash tournaments, Master Hand – our "boss", in a way – was usually the one to inform us of the upcoming changes to the arrangements. New stages, new training facilities planned, new items for us to try out.

And, of course, a new roster.

They say friends come and go. I like to think of everyone that's cramped into this stuffy manor as family. It's pretty cheesy, and my reputation would be ultimately ruined if anyone caught me uttering those words, but when you've stuck around the mansion for nearly 11 years and gotten to know everyone who's received their invitations to the banquet at some point in time, you wind up attached to all the familiar faces. Even when you hate them, when they're the last people you want to see that day, and you wish they weren't even there, you still...like them somehow, you'd still miss them if they  _did_  leave, and you pray deep down inside that those you're especially close to stay here for just a  _little_  longer. I suppose the word for that's something like "friendship", except it's more than that, isn't it? Maybe that's one of the reasons why I'm so attached to this old rickety house that's existed for a couple of decades.

Some of us have the advantage of almost automatically being selected to stay for the next era of tournaments. Take the original 12, for example. Sometimes we call them the Old Vets – short for "veterans", of course, even though Shulk joked once that they should all dress up in vet outfits for the sake of their nickname (resulting in a terribly rough punch in the face from Samus). No one argues with their automatic acceptance, because they've been in this mansion since the tournaments started. They have way more knowledge and experience than any of us that were invited later on; the household would be chaos if it weren't for the vets pointing out locations, basic etiquette and culture, and even the hidden secrets of the manor that actually kept it running as well as it did. Evicting one of the originals would be like ripping one of the rooms out of the mansion, and burning all the memories and furniture stuffed in it.

It's not always as easy for veterans who joined later. Some of them do end up being characters you  _expect_  to get their letter, sooner or later, but even some of them end up leaving the mansion, sometimes for stupid-sounding reasons. Partly, this is because Master Hand deemed them "unworthy" of continuing to take part in the tournaments, but then and again, you can't really blame him when even he's being influenced one way or another by our creators. After all,  _they_  decide who transfers over to the next game.

The room starts to burst into excited whispers and murmurs, as we all try to process what we've just watched again. Then the explosion of excitement finally blows, and everyone's crescendoed into high-pitched squeals and screams over the fact that we're going to be killing each other for sport for another few years - but with more people.

"Well, looks like we'll be back in action again, Ike!" Pit turns to me and grins brightly. He's just as overly optimistic as almost every single other person in this place, albeit a little mischievous, but he's one of the only people here that make the whole event bearable in the first place.  
"Technically, we're already in action anyway. You know the tournament eras just happen forever until a new game's announced."  
"Yeah, but new games mean that the tournaments keep happening with people who're still interested in them, because there's new stuff coming. That trailer," he nods, "is now the highlight of my day."  
"Aren't you worried about who's going to get cut?"  
There's a short pause, coupled with a frown that flashes on and off of Pit's face, before he decides to actually reply.

"Well, you know, even if some of us get cut, it isn't as if we aren't allowed to visit! We get treated as visitors, sure, but just imagine how much less fun it'd be if Master Hand kept us shut up in here without anyone coming round to say hello. He's awfully nice, to let us have people visiting in the first place. I'd be real disappointed if I was banned from the manor after being cut or something."  
"You do have a fair point." I only just realise that Link's made his way over to us to join our conversation, before I notice his vaguely disappointed expression written on his face.  
Link sighs tiredly, looking out of the door leading into the hallway of the manor.

"I'm gonna miss this place a lot."  
He tries to smile a little, but it comes out sadly and the dejected look in his eyes only becomes more painfully obvious. Pit suddenly (attempts to) throw an arm around him, slightly missing, but beaming up at him. (Times like these are when the sheer height difference between the two is subtly funny.)  
"Hey, don't be all gloomy like that. You're not  _seriously_  going to forget everything we've been through, are you?" Winking, he adds, "You're always welcome back here, Greenie."  
I shrug. "Or, you know, we might just happen to all be cut together. Then we can have a reject-party or something with anyone else who's been cut."  
Pit's eyes sparkle with intensity. "Oh, boy, that sounds fun!" he exclaims. "I heard the guys who got cut from Brawl did something like that. Nana and Popo talked about it once."

"We'd better start planning, then." I grin.

And then the three of us start laughing, together, the way it's been since we've gotten together. True, we were brought together by - disaster, that's probably the right word for it. But what I find most beautiful is the way all of us (not just us three, but everyone in the manor) still managed to blossom bonds I'd never imagine happening out of unexpected meetings, coincidences, whatever you want to call them. Was it fate? That doesn't matter. Even now, the small community we've somehow built up still thrives on the same bonds we established all those years ago. They're still engraved here, in the planks, in every nook and cranny of this manor, and they won't disappear any time soon. That's definitely my ultimate reason for wanting to stay here. Call me sentimental, but it's one of the only things that keep  _me_  going, sometimes.

I don't want that to ever end.

* * *

It's like a forest fire raging inside of me. The flames are impossible to douse.

No matter how many times I try to make them help me stop it, it never works.

I was more hesitant to use this method of "training" than my brother, but even still, I was eventually convinced to put it into force. He told me it would help calm down the fire. Yet what frightens me every time I have to show it - release the true Core of my being and my brother's - is knowing how colossal the risk that I put my fighters at truly is. Even their trophy forms cannot always preserve them properly. They are such delicate, precious ornaments I must protect, for they are so, so delicate that a single speck of dust on them could alter the Creator's world immensely, and the last thing I could hope to do is to act as the very catalyst that sends not only their world, but our beloved universe, to sudden death. In a single second, our part of the Multiverse could vanish in that instant.

Why I, and my fellow brother, was entrusted with the power of the Core by our own Creator, I still do not know. It seems that all those in this world look up to us, for simply carrying the Core in our hands. Because we hold the essence of their very lives. As such, they must feel obliged to trust us, to trust that we will not betray them. They know if we ever did try to, that we know what consequences we would face by trying to alter their existences - and our own. Although in more recent years, I notice, from time to time, how the faith that was once willingly placed in myself, declined into trust more hesitantly handed over to I, the bearer of their lives. But during those years,  _that time_ , even I wasn't powerful enough to escape the clutches of  _him_. Master I may be, for the sake of the story our dear Creator had written and woven to take place in our world,  _he_  had been created to overpower us. A beast conceived only to make us suffer...just to please a crowd of adoring fans? To give them something to look forward to?

After all, that is our only purpose for existing. Quite convenient, as it eliminates one of many ultimate questions one may pose. An easy answer: we serve as an entertainment purpose. Nothing more, nothing less. What makes them think that anyone in that distant world, light years away, actually has any sort of attachment to us?How could someone solemnly, unconditionally,  _love_  something or someone that isn't real?

I am beginning to finally understand what my true duty is. The Core that we control is a monster within itself, manifested by the sin of our selfish existence; if we remain any longer, then we shall only cause more havoc and suffering.

The only way I can honestly protect everyone and everything will be to ultimately destroy the Core.


	3. questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, a disaster!!!11!11!
> 
> ...that's not a good way to present a story, but I can't be bothered to write a proper summary for this chapter oops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update - exams are coming up for me in a few weeks and I'd like to try and do well in them at least, so I've been full of revision and work to do that's stopping me from having fun writing or drawing. In the meantime, though, I've been planning the rest of this fic, so at least now I have a basic outline of what's going to happen. ^^;; This is the longest chapter yet (about over 3000 words), and possibly a little more confusing than the first. I feel like the end of this chapter is a little too confusing, but at the same time, I don't want to just tell you explicitly what's truly happening (it'd probably be boring).
> 
> At least something's actually happened that's significant to kicking off the plot, and promise me, there's going to be more next.  
> (Note: the horizontal line doesn't indicate a change of POV this time, I just put it there to organise things)

"Are you  _done_  yet?"

I roll my eyes in irritation as I turn to Toon Link for what feels like the one-hundredth time (but was, in reality, probably only the fifth) and reply,  
"If you're really that impatient, you can just catch the train without me. You know I have to stay back with the other vets to check the manor's empty."  
The green-capped boy groans loudly, pouting in that same annoying manner he does when he doesn't get his way. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up being friends with him in the first place.  
"But Ness, you promised we'd catch the train together! The next one's in twenty. My sector's further away from here than yours, if I take a later train I'll get home when it's dark!" he shudders.

For a universe that's only crammed with the various inventions humankind creates, our world's surprisingly organised. Characters inhabit their respective fantasy worlds and fulfil their respectively given quests and adventures that narrate the stories of their lives; we call these divisions "sectors". Even when their journeys are accomplished, they still have the freedom to roam around willingly – not just within their own 'verses, but even to explore the realms of other games' worlds. So it's quite convenient that there just so happens to be a game where fictional characters from across our universe unite in one fight-for-all contest. At least we have an excuse for wandering out of our designated spaces.

But this solace we have, this free will we've been gifted with to live out our lives the way we wish, so long as we serve our purposes, isn't all a bed of roses exactly. I guess it's because since I joined the tournaments and began to get more recognition for my series and – well, myself – I feel myself sort of falling further and further out of touch from where I started. It was easy, before. I stuck around back home, with Mom and Tracy, occasionally meeting up with the rest of my fellow protagonists whenever we all had the time. Yet suddenly one day, this new map of wonders was suddenly rolled out before us – there were other things to do, things more than just staying bound to the limit of our plotline and living the same old days out again and again and agai-

" _Hurry up!_ "  
I loudly slam the lid of my trunk down, just managing to have cramped all of my belongings inside it, and whirl round so that I'm facing Toon Link.  
"Toon," I whisper, "I am  _this close_  to burning your head off right this instant."  
He stares at me blankly for a moment, before bursting into hysterics at my attempted intimidation.  
"You're hilarious when you try to be scary."  
"As if you could be any scarier."  
Now it's Toon's turn to roll his eyes at me. Shoving me lightly, he retorts,  
"Come on, let's not fight before our nice long break. It'll stress me out!"  
I don't have time to respond before he yanks me by the arm out of our now empty dorm.  
"Jeez, at least let me take my stuff before I go!"

When we get downstairs to the main lobby, it's practically deserted, the doors to the living room and training rooms firmly shut and locked. The only people left loitering are Link and Samus, who didn't seem to be doing much other than inspecting random bits they'd found in the old storage room. Sighing, I look back up to the flight of stairs I descended - no, further than that, all the way to the top storey of the manor. The building has quite an...odd shape, for lack of a better word: it extends on either side and behind of the centre to accommodate the various rooms and mazes of corridors, but the stairs sort of loop round and round the middle so there's a gaping hole for you to look down from each floor, a little like balconies on each floor. These balconies made useful spying spots for when you wanted to quietly observe the activities of your next potential prank victim. Stalking's key when it comes to these things!

...Not that I'd stalk anyone, of course.

Everyone seems to portray the mansion we call home as some large, grandeuse building with classy famous fighters inhabiting it. It may have been fancy and extravagant before, but if it was, then we've made one hell of a mess of it now. The rooms are still neatly organised, and there's a heartwarming homely atmosphere that's unique to the mansion - whether it's because Master Hand makes us share our rooms to "break the ice" at first or not, I'm not totally sure.

On the ground floor, there's three or so important parts of the house, the first being the training rooms. An important part of the training rooms is a portal room that looks smaller than it actually is; that's where we can teleport to different "stages" situated in a vast range of sectors - including mine, of course. Training in different "environmental conditions", as Master Hand puts it, is vital for our training for us to become experienced warriors. Ever since the Subspace incident, he's tried to prepare us for another universe-wide disaster should the time ever come. I think he's just worrying too much, but I've seen in the past (back in the first days of the tournaments) how much he really values our presences. As for the other training gyms, they're nothing exciting - a few sandbags here and there, and some equipment to practise things like speed and agility. They're the rooms that end up being empty most of the time.  
Then there's my favourite part of the house (besides my dorm) - the kitchen. It's actually conjoined with the living room, which is where everyone tends to spend their free time if they're not training or somewhere else in the manor. For a glamorous mansion, it's strange that the Master decided not to include a dining room for us to eat in. (Though I suppose he didn't see a point when most of the time we brought food to the living room.) Compared to the untidy mess that is the living room, the kitchen's actually quite nicely decorated. The main colour scheme being a bright yellow-orange theme, over the years of inhabitants coming and going, you're bound to find a thing or two that's been added to the cupboards, drawers and even cutlery - you name it. Miss Peach once got us all involved in some "family fun" and we ended up with about 50-something customised plates to add to our large enough collection.  
The living room itself is like the main hub for socialising, even though it's not exactly big itself. We've cramped in a TV and plugged as many consoles as possible into it - strictly Nintendo, of course - and there's a few sofas here and there, finished off by the old kotatsu that's been there since I've been here. Since we eat in this room, it makes for quite a fair bit of mess that no one bothers to clean up until much later. Life can be hectic here with tournaments, training and the tea that brews up a lot from time to time (correction:  _all_  the time).

"Toon! Ness!"  
My mind snaps back to reality as I hear Link call me and Toon over to him. Toon hurries ahead of me to his older counterpart (generation, I should say), beaming up to him with excitement.  
"Hey, Link! Can we go now? I really wanna get home soon, I can't wait to-"  
"Whoa, slow down there, Toon. The train's not for another few minutes."  
"Only  _twenty!_  I don't want to miss it!"  
Shaking his head, Link replies, "The station's not that far from here, little guy. The path literally takes five minutes to walk."

He then turns to me, ignoring Toon's impatient cries.  
"Finally ready to go, Ness?"  
I nod in response. "Everything's a-okay! I just need to check upstairs to see if anyone's forgotten anything, I think."  
"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. We'll take care of it." Samus pipes in. "Figured you might want to spend a bit more time with your kid pals before leaving."

She was referring to the other kids here that were around my age. There'd been more of us now that the villagers from the Animal Crossing 'verse had been invited to the tournament. I distinctly remembered the priceless look on everyone's faces when they'd heard characters from such an innocent game were being sent to beat up guys double their size in a grand tournament. When the first tournament came round, they'd impressed and terrified even the toughest of Smashers with their somewhat unnatural strength, but even more so when they'd first arrived with what people seemed to view as creepy behaviour. Even so, there wasn't any point in letting me off my vet duties now. The Villagers had taken an earlier train sometime at midday, and Lucas had to leave a day early because of some village celebration he couldn't miss, so Toon and I were the only ones in our "group" left.

"Ha! That means we can leave now, like I wanted!" Toon exclaims, smirking at me with satisfaction.  
"If you can help me lug this trunk to the train, we can." I retort, smirking back at him.  
"No way, you can carry that yourself. It's your fault you brought so much stuff, anyway."  
"Toon, stop being such a-"

A stern stare from Link is all it takes for us to shut up and - finally - leave for the train home.

* * *

...except it turns out we'd missed the last daylight train. Or rather, it had gotten into an accident at some point with one of the earlier trains that left in the wrong direction, apparently. The next train hadn't been until 18:00, and we'd had to put up with Toon Link's whining and groaning at the three-hour wait for our transport. Only when the train does pull in to the station does he finally shut his mouth, excitedly scampering onto the train home.

There isn't much to do on the train, besides make conversation or stare out of the window watching the trees and the scenery zoom by whilst we rush past on our ways home. The last of us at the manor (the vets, including me, and Toon) managed to get a carriage to ourselves thanks to our large group, which was useful since it meant we'd at least avoid any diehard fans that might happen to be abroad like us.

I hadn't done much other than stare at my phone for a bit before Toon interrupted me to start another conversation about the latest sea voyage he'd planned with Tetra, who I didn't know very well myself. There wasn't any other conversation I could have had - the group chat with the rest of my "kid pals" hadn't cropped up with any notifications since the morning. Not even anything from Nana or Popo, who, as far as I knew, since they had been cut from the tournaments, spent most of their time doing nothing at home when they were too lazy to bother climbing any mountains...although I wasn't sure if they'd bothered trying to use the "new technology" they'd only just gotten their hands on.

"...and then, we're gonna check out this island here. If the rumours are true, we'll get our hands on a real nice load of rupees!"  
"Are you gonna convert them to Nins?"  
If anything, Nins are more useful currency than currencies only valid within a few games. They're basically the universal currency nowadays.  
"Nah, there's this real sweet cannon I've been looking to save up for to upgrade our ship a little bit. 5000 Rupees!"  
"Sounds like a lot, huh?"  
He nods. "Somethin' like that." As he grabs his map off the table to stuff back into his pack, Toon suddenly asks,

"What about you? Got any plans for the next few months?"

I didn't, really. Usually, when it comes to breaks like this, I meet up with the others in the main square central to our universe - put simply, each game 'verse sort of circles the square, and the train lines just basically circle around the square to stop off at each 'verse, weird as it sounds. The square's a great point of interest for video game characters alike to organise events, do mundane things like shopping or just find a place to hang out. One of the main attractions during the season is the Culture Festival, a super fun gathering where characters get to set up their own stalls and showcase the wonderful artifacts and trinkets of their games' universes. More popular and famous games such as our own tournament itself don't bother to make stalls (since they'd attract a little too much attention and there's no way we'd be able to handle everything), but the experience was just as enjoyable when you wandered through the streets, decorated with foreign wonders everywhere you looked. The festival's not until this August, though - four months away.

"I'm probably gonna stay home, hang out with Lucas from time to time, unless one of you guys makes plans or something. I'd be more than happy to tag along!"  
"Hmm...fair enough. Makes sense you'd want to spend time with him, I guess." Toon frowns for a moment. "Have you heard from him since yesterday?"  
"No one's texted me for a while, I don't think. They're probably just busy, right?"  
"Probably nothing to worry too much abo-"

We're suddenly submerged into darkness, the lights of the train flickering weakly as they desperately try to cling onto their energy. Until they black out.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"Have we crashed?"

"What the- Who's driving this thing? Jeez-"

Then shaking. Before anyone knows it, the train's rattling this way and that way - the mumbles of apprehension crescendoing into yelps and screams of terror. At this point, I can barely figure out what's happening anymore, like I'm starting to fall away from reality. All I could hear was just panic, panic, panic. Train accidents? Not common, but not rare, at least not here. I mean, we'd survive anyway, thanks to our magic trophy ability thing we can do.

Right?

Toon's previously grinning face has now contorted into the same expression of panic that's printed on everyone's faces. "What the hell? This isn't normal!" He starts frantically turning everywhere, but I can't even see him properly anymore. Light. I need light. But conjuring up a small flame might end up catalysing our predicament into a disaster, and the last thing I want is to end up turning someone into a human torchlight.

"Phones!" I hear Mario suddenly yell out. There's the sound of him briefly fumbling around impatiently for his own cell in his pocket, and then there he is, illuminated by its feeble glow. "We need-a to get light! Call someone!"  
Trust Mario to take charge immediately. Like everyone else, I admire Mario for his bravery and the legacy he's left on the game world. Yet even still, I'd never seen him take much lead in situations like this; he'd pipe in from time to time, but I ended up expecting someone like Captain Falcon or Link to deal with our dilemmas.  
"Yes, yes! Brilliant idea! Now, let's see here..." Screens start to switch on, one by one, as if they're little stars clasped in the hands of us all. I take the moment to scan the carriage - besides fallen trunks and packs scattered amongst the seats, surprisingly enough, the place isn't wrecked or damaged- yet.  
"How the hell are we supposed to call someone when we don't have any idea where we are?" Samus snaps. "I can barely see outside, let alone in here. Anyway, the service's gone-"

_"WE APOLOGISE FOR THE CURRENT PROBLEM BEING EXPERIENCED. DUE TO A FAULT IN THE STEERING MECHANISM, WE HAVE TEMPORARILY APPEARED TO HAVE LOST CONTROL OVER PILOTING THE VEHICLE. PLEASE REST ASSURED THAT WE ARE TRYING TO FIX THIS PROBLEM IMMEDIATELY-..Y.Y..-DIATE-"_

The voiceover starts to fade away, ugly glitching and crackling noises overpowering the message. They grow louder, louder still, the robotic voice of the train conductor disappearing into...nothingness?

_Zzzt...zzZZt. zzzzzzzzzZZzZZZZZZZZ **zzZZZZ**_

_..._ Deathly silence falls onto us all again. It's quiet. Too quiet for anyone to dare break the quiet. A sick feeling in my stomach blocks me from even trying to scream for help, cry for someone to run in, rescue us, let this all be over. But we're the fighters, the heroes that should be saving the day. Do heroes need heroes to save them, too? No, we can save ourselves. We're the heroes. We're the strong ones. Then why can't we get out of this?

Shivering, I slowly gaze up to the dead lights above us. And- there it is! It's there ( _he's_  there?) , taunting and mocking us for falling into its little trap. But what? What is it?

Whatever it is, it's something maybe even we can't control. It's impossible for anyone to break through the security and locks of our world; it's beyond any regular fictional being to alter the worlds we're meant to live in. We can't change what we were desired to be, or act like. Can we? But that doesn't really make sense. I don't understand. If we have the free will to roam and explore other universes, aren't we choosing that for ourselves? Forming friendships, hatreds, with other unreal people just like us. Creators didn't  _tell_  us to befriend those certain people, or despise the others. Surely, they simply just conceived our existences in their minds and we just happened to develop our own selves. Otherwise they'd be a little like puppeteers, right? Maybe our sentience wasn't intended. Since the only reason we're here is to exist, for the sake of consolidating our concepts. What strings are they trying to pull? Is this part of the staged act we have to perform, or are we just being toyed with? I trusted them - we trusted them. But this is all  _wrong._

This isn't how the plot's supposed to go.


End file.
